You were a delicate butterfly
So eternally beautiful
But I hated your pure wings
Hated your all-knowing eyes
You were a faultless mirror
So morally irreproachable
But reflected in your depths
I saw my shallowness
Reflected, I saw my darkness
You were a blinding light
So contrasting against me
But your light I couldn’t extinguish
So my own smallest light I gave to you
A single blessed feeling
I gave for you to hold in memory
Of a shadow wanting to be the sun
I gave you the best of me
But unsoiled you threw it to the ground
No longer pure
You soiled yourself with such a purpose
A butterfly transformed into a moth
Did I make a mistake in your image?
Or all we all moths draw to a flame?
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